Thou Art the Dawning Sun
by Silverneko9lives0
Summary: For HKM: Someone is leaving poems for Bilbo all over Erebor


~Thou Art the Dawning Sun~

He stares at the note wedged into the crack between his door and the wall. He's a little afraid, but it's attached to his door, so it must be for him. Right? He inhales and pulls the note out before entering the room. When the door closes he unfolds the parchment.

_Thou art the dawning sun _

_Over the darkened field. _

_I beseech thee, great sun, _

_Chase away my night, _

_Oh bright morning star! _

_Thy smile is the heat _

_Of midday yet to come and_

_Thy eyes melt the frost on _

_The grass into sweet dew. _

_I see thee—_

_And thy beauty is too marvelous _

_To look on, _

_Bringing tears to my eyes. _

_Yet I wish to look, _

_Though I may be blinded. _

_And if I am, I know no greater honor _

_Than to have thy smiling grace_

_Be my last vision._

Bilbo read the poem again. He turned the note over. The only other words were "to Bilbo Baggins." So whoever wrote this piece knew him or saw him at least.

Which narrowed the poet down to, oh, all of Erebor. Bilbo set it down. It was a nice piece of verse and sweet. But he found it ludicrous being compared to the sun. He wasn't blindingly beautiful. For a Hobbit, he was rather average on looks. Or he thought so himself.

He went to change for the feast tonight and thought no more on the poem.

~Evenstar of the East~

The second poem rested on the book he had been reading. He got up a moment to talk to a scribe about getting more books in Westron. He had really only been gone a moment and there was the poem.

Bilbo looked around first before unfolding the parchment.

_Ever-lasting and ever-shining_

_Is the Elven jewel: the Evenstar of Galadriel._

_True is its beauty and pale as the moon._

_And yet I say as such: no jewel compares to thee, my love._

_Thy grace is fairer than the fairest Elf _

_And thy heart is as strong as the mightiest Dwarf. _

_I name thee my Evenstar._

_A living Evenstar who is warm rather than cold_

_And soft rather than hard._

_I love thee, Evenstar of the East, and my heart bursts _

_In songs of thee._

Bilbo wasn't sure it was allowed to be compared to the Evenstar. But as the poet was a Dwarf, he or she really could have chosen worse. Like the Arkenstone. Perhaps this was a clue. The Dwarf knew about the Arkenstone debacle.

Many had heard rumors of it—it had caused him some trouble earlier in the adjustment of living in Erebor—but many dismissed it. After all, the Hobbit who stole the Arkenstone would_ never_ be allowed to stay. Right?

So that perhaps narrowed the poet's possible identity to…eleven Dwarrow at the very least.

That's better odds than before at least. And comforting that he knew the poet.

~Sanmizim~

The third poem came the following night when a troupe of Dwarven minstrels sang in the company's honor. It was a private affair. Only the Company and their families had come. Bilbo sat beside Fili and Kili, laughing at the revised song of _That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates_. Ori admitted to writing the song to paper and Fili to the accompaniment and melody.

The minstrels struck a new tune, slow and haunting.

_I sing to thee, _

_Sanmizim._

_Yom hôfuk_ _ni kurdu_

_Ai sukh zu hodh._

_Izzûghaz danuk mizim,_

_Nalekhul _ _ûrzud!_

_Kurdu _ _katûb khi _ _zirikh,_

_ And my _ _zirikh is thee._

_Thy voice stirs my blood._

_Zurkur bakhuz ai dohyar,_

_Aban torv kurdaz _ _kurdû zu._

_I love thee, _

_Elekûn Armukhakkaraz!_

_How I love thee! _

_Fool I may be,_

_My heart beats for you._

_Sangimli, here's my heart,_

_Now and forever._

The minstrels bowed and there was polite clapping. Bilbo only wished he knew what was being said.

"I didn't know you had an admirer, Laddie," Bofur chuckled.

Bilbo blushed. "I beg your pardon?"

"The song just now was a love song," Thorin explained. "A bit crude, but…" he rolled his eyes, as though knowing the word he wanted but did not want to voice it if he could help it.

"Cute?" Fili offered.

"What Fili said," Thorin agreed, drinking his wine. Bilbo's blush deepened.

"Well…I had been getting poems from someone…this is the first time it was a song though. Couldn't it have been mostly in Westron? If I'm going to receive poetry, the least my admirer can do is put it in a language I know." Remembering his admirer might be in the mood and not wanting him to feel slighted, he shrugged. "But the tune is very lovely."

"I can write the translation for you, if you like Mr. Baggins," Ori offered.

Bilbo smiled, ready to reply.

"It's fine, Ori, I'll do it," Kili said before Bilbo could accept. Bilbo stared at the youngest Durin, who went back to staring at his feet. He frowned.

_No. Could it be?_

~Response: Your Tongue, My Lord, Is Unpolished Silver~

The next morning, Bilbo found a slip of paper on his table. _Here's the translation of the song, Bilbo—Kili_.

He unfolded the paper:

_I sing to thee, _

_Perfect Jewel._

_There is joy in my heart_

_On seeing thy face._

_Eyes of emerald,_

_Shine like the sun!_

_The heart knows its desire_

_ And my desire is thee._

_Thy voice stirs my blood._

_Like the hammer to the anvil,_

_The crafted stone of my heart beats for you._

_I love thee, _

_Hobbit of the Shire!_

_How I love thee! _

_Fool I may be,_

_But my heart beats for thee._

_Perfect star, here's my heart,_

_Now and forever._

Bilbo hummed, reading the poem again before going to dress. Once presentable, he went to Kili's room, knocking on the door. A few minutes later, it opened to show a very groggy Kili who really looked _way_ too much like his uncle.

"Wutimeizit?"

"It's nine o'clock in the morning!"

Kili groaned, rubbing his eyes, "S'too early, Bilbo."

"Are you the one who keeps leaving me poems around the place?" he asked. Kili blinked at him. "If I am wrong, feel free to correct me."

Kili swallowed. "Yes," he admitted.

"May I come inside?" Kili opened the door wider for Bilbo to step inside. "Why didn't you just tell me earlier?"

"Too nervous," he admitted, sitting on his bed cross-legged. "And I wanted to do something you'd appreciate. I _was_ worried you'd think it's Ori or something but…"

"Sadly, Ori's talent with a quill precedes yours."

"That's true…"

Bilbo sighed, rubbing the back of his head and closing his eyes, thinking. "Your tongue, my lord, is unpolished silver…"

_Yet to be mined from the earth._

_The value is there and waiting_

_To become clean._

_I would, if thou wish it, teach thee_

_To put your thoughts to words_

_And your words to parchment._

_As such, your voice is yet unheard._

_Unearth it. Polish it. Melt it. Craft it._

_Still, the words are from thy heart_

_ So kind and true._

_My heart is yours, if you wish it to be._

Kili stared at him, eyes wide. "Erm…"

"I was trying to say that your poetry needs work, but you got some talent there, so a few more lessons and you'll be a bard yet. As to your wish to court me, well, I did accept. True, it's not good but I have come up with worse! Remember the spiders?"

"I'd rather not…but you're okay with…"

"Of course I am, you silly fool! I wouldn't accept your offer if I didn't!" Bilbo stood and kissed Kili's forehead. "I expect more poems in the future, just so you know."


End file.
